Sherlock Drabbles
by who is sabrina
Summary: Creative title, I know. Drabbles for BBC's "Sherlock". Rated T to be safe. NO SLASH. EVER.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock! What've you done to my curtains?" shrieked Mrs. Hudson, fingering the curtains that were once a silky red. Sherlock glanced over at the curtains that were now black and burnt.

"An experiment went rather wrong, I'm afraid," he responded. "I'll get new ones, Mrs. Hudson, not to worry."

"You will," she said threateningly.

Dr. John Watson walked into the flat at 221b Baker Street, and stopped dead. Sherlock looked up.

"Ah, hello, John."

"Sherlock… what happened to the curtains?"

"I ruined the old ones."

"So you bought new ones?"

"Obviously."

"Sherlock… _why_ did you buy neon green curtains?"

"…Problem?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt: Try to use all of the following words in a story: plastic bottle, hockey puck, dirty handkerchief, crumpled note, unhinged door.**

Dr. John Watson handed Mrs. Hudson the crumpled note.

_John-_

_Sorry for the mess._

Mrs. Hudson looked at the flat and cringed at the unhinged door. She didn't even want to think about the mess inside. But she looked anyway. She stepped inside with a _crunch_. She looked down to see she had stepped on a plastic water bottle. She went back to the note.

_But I do have an explanation. The dirty handkerchief on the floor? That's where some idiot tried to knock me out with chloroform. Obviously, I dropped the plastic bottle I was carrying so I could deal with him. Most of the mess is from our… well, scuffle. The shattered window is courtesy of the man's accomplice who was waiting outside. He saw us fighting and, being the idiot he is, he thought he'd be of help by smashing the window in with a hockey puck. Yes, a hockey puck. No, I don't know why._

Mrs. Hudson looked up from the note to see the hockey puck on the shattered glass from the window. She looked around at all the upturned furniture around the room. Scuffle, indeed! Sighing, she read on.

_Oh, the door. That happened when the accomplice from outside decided to come inside. Long story short, the both of them are now in lockup, and I'm down at Scotland Yard with Lestrade. We'll be swinging by soon to pick up the evidence, I imagine. See you then_

_-Sherlock_

_P.S. Don't touch anything._

She glanced once more at the mess before leaving the room. At least she was their landlady, and not their housekeeper…


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompt: Use the following words in a story: hypocrite, cookie jar, city, telephone.**

"I hate him," Sherlock muttered as he and John watched Mycroft drive away. He had just been by the flat to try to convince Sherlock to work on a case for him. Key word: _try_.

"Surely you can't _hate_ him; I mean, he's your brother," John said, leaving the window and sitting down.

"I hate hypocrites. He's a hypocrite," Sherlock stated. At John's doubtful expression, he continued. "He hates being spied on, but what does he do? He spies. On me."

"Well, I can't argue with that. He tried to get me to spy on you for him. And on top of the whole hypocrite thing, he's… well, he called me on the phone. And not just any old telephone, the pay phone in the city! He moved all the cameras in the street."

"Speaking of cameras, there's something I forgot to tell you. He bugged the flat."

"He did _what_?"

"But don't worry; I've removed all of them. Hard to find all of them, though. He even hid one in the cookie jar…"

John decided he hated Mycroft, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt: Try to use the following words in a story: hurricane, flashlight, lawn mower.**

John was watching the news. Right now, they were talking about a severe storm – a hurricane – that had occurred in the States. A video was shown of a house being demolished by it. Things were flying everywhere. John even thought he could make out a lawn mower being hurled across the sky. Of course, it was hard to see with the near-blinding rain. It was so chaotic. And while he was on the subject of chaotic… Where had Sherlock gone? And right on cue, Sherlock bounded through the door.

"Sorry, John! You're either going to have to eat dinner on your own or go out with Sarah; I'm headed to the Yard."

"Sherlock, what happened?" John exclaimed, noticing a particularly painful-looking bump on Sherlock's head.

"Oh, I got knocked out with a flashlight." And before John could comment, he was gone.

"_In other news, the stocks have…" _John turned his attention back to the telly. He'd call Sarah later…


	5. Chapter 5

**Prompt: something wrapped**

Detective Inspector G. Lestrade walked into the Scotland Yard offices and made his way to his desk. The halls were near empty. Almost no one was in today. Why? It was Christmas. And Lestrade was stuck at work. Sighing, he slipped into his office, thinking about his wife and the wonderful dinner that would await him when he got home. He hoped his wife wouldn't be too upset that he had to go into work. She would understand.

Lestrade sat at his desk and nearly sat his coffee he was carrying on a box. There was a box sitting on his desk. A wrapped box. A Christmas present. Curious, he peered at the tag to see who it was from. He read the first line and then paled. "From Sherlock" it said. From previous experience, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to open it. Especially here, in his office. But then he noticed there was a second line of writing beneath the first. It read, "and John." Lestrade smiled, reaching for the box.

He trusted John.

Sort of.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt: Write a pure dialogue story. Move your story along by using dialogues only. No narration, no description… Just dialogues.**

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello, John."

"Sherlock? Why are you calling me? It better be important; I'm at work."

"Yes, it is…"

"Hello? Are you there?"

"I'm here!"

"Are you ok? You sound-"

"I'm fine! Just wondering… Where do you keep your revolver? I seemed to have… er… misplaced mine."

"In my room, in the desk drawer. Why?"

"Oh, no reason… Just for… future reference."

"WAS THAT A GUNSHOT?"

"Nope."

"Where are you?"

"Nowhere. Good-bye, John!"

"Who was that calling, John?"

"Oh, hello, Sarah; it was Sherlock…"

"You look a little worried. What happened?"

"Oh, nothing just the usual-"

"You'd better answer that call, John. I'll close the door on my way out of your office, shall I?"

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello, John. I was… wondering… Do you remember where I put... those handcuffs?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Prompt: Use the following words in a story: knowledge, hospital, info, yellow, room.**

Lestrade had asked for his help. He had provided him with knowledge of the case; he had given him all the info he needed.

Yet, somehow, Sherlock Holmes had screwed up. Yes, he had figured out who the murderer was, as well as the details But he wouldn't be able to tell Lestrade what he had found out. Not yet, anyway. He was trapped in this infernal yellow room, which was slowly being filled with poisonous gas.

Mycroft Holmes banged his head onto his desk. His little brother got into the worst messes. Sighing, he picked up the phone and called the hospital at which John was working. Dr. Watson would help his brother. He always did.

John Watson got out of the cab and ran as fast as he could to the address Mycroft had given him. Then he stopped short in shock, staring at the figure that was sitting calmly on the front stops.

"Sherlock! But… Mycroft said you were trapped!" John spluttered. "He said there was no way out!"

Sherlock scoffed.

"Mycroft is an idiot."

**A/N: If anyone would like to submit a prompt or some random words you'd like me to attempt to make a story with, let me know in the reviews or PM me! Thanks! I hope you're all enjoying! Happy Holidays, by the way!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Prompt: addled.**

"Are you sure you've thought this through, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"You aren't a bit… addled?"

"What? No…"

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm the one that's addled? Because I could've sworn I heard you suggest that we go into that warehouse full of armed smugglers!"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"They're _armed_, Sherlock!"

"So are we!"

"We're outnumbered ten to one!"

"…Problem?"

"Oh, of course not. It's just that we're about to bloody die!"

"We do have backup. Lestrade is on the way."

"Why does that give me no comfort whatsoever?"

"I'm going in. Are you coming or not, John?"

"Fine. I'm coming. But Lestrade had better not be late!"

"Yeah, that'll happen when Mrs. Hudson admits that she's our housekeeper."


	9. Chapter 9

**Use the following words in a story: occurrence, basis, controller, aesthetic, certainty.**

A lot of people say that trust is the basis for a good relationship. Maybe that's why Sherlock and Mycroft never quite got along. An argument was more than just a usual occurrence – it was a certainty.

Young Mycroft Holmes walked into his little brother's room to find him coloring. Sherlock looked up.

"I see you're meeting your aesthetic needs," Mycroft commented.

"What?"

"Never mind. Just give it back."

"Give what back?"

"My game controller! I know you took it, Sherlock!"

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

"Did not!"

"Yes, you did, and you know it!"

"I didn't take it!" There was a pause. "I hid it, though."

"_Sherlock!_ Where is it?"

"You're smart; you find it!" Another pause as Mycroft fumed. "Oh, wait…" Sherlock amended. "Just kidding. You're an idiot, aren't you? Better go get it for you, then…"

Mycroft slammed the door on his way out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Prompt: Mention all these words in a story that ends in a compromise: mechanic, spaghetti, bathtub, stool.**

Lestrade bounded through the door of 221b Baker Street to find John and Sherlock seated at the table, glaring at each other over a large bowl of spaghetti.

"Er… sorry to interrupt," Lestrade put in, "but do you mind if I stay here for a bit? My car's at the mechanic down the street."

"It's fine," John responded, then went back to glaring at Sherlock. Lestrade looked to Sherlock, to John, and back.

"Am I interrupting something? I can probably find a café or someplace nearby to wait at…"

"No; it's fine," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off John. They seemed locked in a staring – or rather, _glaring_ – contest.

"Doesn't look like it's fine," Lestrade mumbled, but both Sherlock and John heard him.

"It _would_ be fine," Sherlock said heatedly, "if John would give me back my revolver!"

"It _would _be fine," said John, in exactly the same tone, "if Sherlock would actually _eat something_ for a change!" John looked to Lestrade for support in his argument, and then realized Lestrade had nowhere to sit. "Oh! Lestrade, there's a stool you can bring in from the hallway."

Lestrade mumbled his thanks and went out into the hall. He passed the bathroom, then backtracked. He had seen something… He poked his head into the bathroom and saw Sherlock's revolver sitting in the bathtub. Lestrade snorted with laughter and went to retrieve the stool. He came back in the room and sat down at the table. Just then, Sherlock got up and began to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" John asked angrily.

"To get my revolver. It's in the bathtub. Honestly, John. You call that a hiding place?" John was too shocked to be angry.

"But you never left the room! How could you possibly know it was there?"

"When Lestrade came back in, he was smiling – laughing, really. Obviously, he'd seen it. The only room in the hall between here and that stool is the bathroom. If Lestrade had seen it just by walking by, it had to be in the bathtub, obviously."

Sherlock walked out of the room and came back in with his revolver, which he set on a table. He came back to the table looking smug.

"You still have to eat something, Sherlock." John glared. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "If you don't, I'll…" John thought for minute. Then he pulled out his phone and grinned. "If you don't, I'll give Molly your number!"

"You wouldn't."

"I would! But if you eat something, I swear I won't."

Lestrade walked out of the door to the sound of forks clinking against plates as John and Sherlock enjoyed their spaghetti.


	11. Chapter 11

**Prompt: third, drawing, crash, work, rapid.**

For the third time this week, a loud crash came from downstairs, drawing John out of his room. He yawned and made his way into the main part of the flat. He moved into the kitchen and began making three cups of tea as Sherlock rapidly felled his opponent – yet another assassin that had broken into their flat. Sherlock whipped out his phone, and after a few minutes, Lestrade came through the door. John handed him a cup of tea.

"This is the third time this week!" Lestrade complained. "It's three in the morning. I just want to sleep."

"You're not the only one who's annoyed," John reminded him, yawning yet again. He handed Sherlock the second cup of tea, then sat down with his own. "Seriously, these assassins either need to get the point and stop trying, or else separate their attacks, because this is just way too tiring."

Sherlock and Lestrade both nodded in agreement. They quietly finished their tea. Lestrade picked up evidence, took the still unconscious criminal into his car, then bade Sherlock and John a good night before heading off to the station. John got up and put all three cups into the sink.

"Nice fighting, by the way," John said as he made his way back upstairs. He only hoped he wouldn't have to see it again the next night.


	12. Chapter 12

"You. Are. An. Idiot."

"What've I done this time?" Sherlock responded, spinning around in the chair to see John.

"I can't even _believe_- You know what? I can. That's exactly something you would do, Sherlock. Because you are, without doubt, the most idiotic person I know," John fumed, pacing furiously through the room in his robe and pajamas with his hair all messed up. "I'm a bloody _doctor_, Sherlock! If you're hurt, tell me!"

"I'm not," Sherlock replied calmly, his brow furrowed. "What brought this on, John?"

"I had a dream about that whole ordeal with General Shan and the Black Lotus and all that. You know, 'The Blind Banker'? And I remembered her saying that she had tried three times to kill us. But I was never attacked. So it must have been you. And you never told me! Why?"

"Irrelevant."

"Irrelevant? Sherlock, I'll tell you again. If you're hurt, no matter how _irrelevant_ you deem it, even if it's a bloody _papercut_, you tell me! Alright?"

"Fine."

"Now what happened? When you were attacked then?"

"Well, you saw one of them – at the circus. Another was at Soo Lin Yao's flat. Her brother tried to strangle me."

"That's why your voice was all croaky, then."

"Mmhmm. Oh, and by the way, an assassin broke into our flat when you were out having a row with the check-and-PIN machine."

"What?" There was a moment of silence while John stood astonished and annoyed, speechless.

"Well, that was it, I think," said Sherlock, turning back around to continue doing whatever it was he was doing on John's computer. "Altogether, not bad."

"Not bad?" John echoed disbelievingly.

"Not bad," Sherlock repeated, glancing at the clock. "Well, it's nearly midnight, John. If that's all that was bothering you, you should probably get back to sleep now."

"Right. Yeah."

**~ later ~**

John woke up to someone knocking at his room door. Looking to the clock, he saw that it was 3:00am. Groaning, he called out, "What do you want, Sherlock?" Because of course it would be Sherlock. Who else would wake him up at this hour? Sherlock swung open the door, standing silhouetted in the doorframe.

"Papercut," he smirked.


	13. Chapter 13

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, the yell of, "What the _hell_ are you doing, Sherlock?" rang across the flat at 221b Baker Street. John had just come home to find the flat suspiciously empty and quiet. Remembering that Sherlock hadn't told him he'd be going out, he decided to text him to make sure he hadn't been kidnapped by Mycroft or some other party with more sinister intentions.

Where are you? -JW

Almost immediately, his phone buzzed.

At the flat. –SH

No, you aren't! I'm here! –JW

I am at the flat. –SH

No, you're not! –JW

I am! –SH

I'm not going to play blood hide-and-seek with you, Sherlock! Where are you? –JW

Cupboard. –SH

"What?" John wondered aloud. Apprehensively, he walked to the large, normally empty cupboard in the kitchen. Sighing exasperatedly, he swung open the doors – and Sherlock came tumbling out.

Hence the yelling.

"I was merely doing an-" But John finished his sentence for him.

"Experiment. Right?" Sherlock nodded. "On what?" John asked. "How long one can be trapped in a cupboard without suffocating?"

"Wow, John! Good guess! That's exactly what I was doing! I-" But the look on John's face stopped him. Sherlock dissolved into laughter. "I'm kidding, John! Honestly, I'm not that stupid!"

"I wish I believed that."


	14. Chapter 14

In the early days of John's friendship with Sherlock Holmes, many things had surprised him, worried him, amazed him, and given him a lot of food for thought. Sherlock's unusual habits were constantly surprising John. He learned something new about Sherlock nearly every day. Like the day when John walked into the flat to find Sherlock's limp form lying on the floor.

"Sherlock!" John ran across the flat and shook his friend.

"What? What's wrong?" Sherlock said immediately, sitting up straight, his alert eyes scanning the room for a threat. Finding none, he looked back at John's now-confused face.

"What's wrong?" John echoed. "Well… I thought… Are you ok? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Sherlock responded, now looking equally confused. "Are _you_ ok?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Sherlock, stop it! What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me! What's wrong with you?"

"Sherlock! Seriously! Are you ok?"

"Yes, for the hundredth time! Why do you keep- Oh!" Sherlock laughed. "I see. You walked in, say me lying here, and thought I was hurt, yes?"

"Yes! You're not?"

"Nope."

"Well then… What were you doing on the floor?"

"Sleeping."

"Oh, God."

"What?"

"I've been trying to get you to sleep for the past couple of days! And when you finally do fall asleep, I go and wake you up. Wow. Great. Just my luck," John sighed. "Why were you sleeping on the floor anyway?" John asked as he and Sherlock both stood up.

"…Problem?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Prompt: blood smeared glass. (Thanks to "the ticking clock")**

John entered the flat with a crunch. Looking down, he realized he had stepped on glass – blood-smeared glass. Slowly, afraid of what he would find, he looked up.

Sherlock was standing at the table, pouring strawberry syrup onto a giant glass bowl of ice cream.

"Ah, hello, John! Ice cream?"


	16. Chapter 16

"That's unusual."

"You're unusual."

"You're childish."

"_You're_ childish!"

"You are!"

"You are!"

"You."

"You."

"You."

"You."

"OH FOR GOODNESS SAKES! YOU'RE BOTH CHILDISH!"

"Sorry, Lestrade."

"I'm sorry, too. Sorry that I somehow got stuck in a situation like this."

"This isn't that bad."

"Really, Sherlock? We're in the middle of nowhere. In a car with no gas. Smack in the middle of a raging thunderstorm."

"Exactly. Not that bad."

"I'd hate to see your definition of bad, mate."

…

"…Sherlock?"

…

"…Sherlock?"

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"I don't believe it."

"What?"

"He's sleeping."

"What? He won't sleep a wink while he's on a case, but he'll fall straight to sleep in the middle of a thunderstorm?"

"Sherlock has the amazing ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, if he wants to."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. I once found him asleep under his bed."

"..."

"He said it was quieter down there."

"That's strange."

"You're strange."

"Sherlock!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Prompt: Write a mini-story that begins with "They had nothing to say to each other." (Prompt courtesy of )**

They had nothing to say to each other. Sherlock and John were both lying on the floor in the flat, surveying the disaster area the flat had become. A couple of lamps were shattered. Some picture frames were broken. A few knives that had been pinning things to the wall had fallen down and stuck firmly into Mrs. Hudson's carpet. Bits of fabric and other debris were everywhere. The tea they had taken into the living room to drink was on the ground instead of in their stomachs, and the crackers John bought were, like most everything else, currently making a mess of themselves on Mrs. Hudson's rug. This all was, without a doubt, coming out of their rent.

Sherlock and John sighed simultaneously. Finally, John spoke up.

"New rule. We may _never ever_ have a pillow fight again."

"Whoever said pillow fights were harmless must've been an idiot. Maybe it was Anderson."

"Whoever said pillow fights were harmless hadn't met us."

"Clearly."


	18. Chapter 18

"Your computer is broken."

"Sherlock! What did you do?"

"Now, before you look at it, I want you to know – it wasn't my fault!"

"Really?"

"It wasn't directly my fault."

"So it was indirectly your fault."

"…Yes."

"Well, what happened?"

"Why don't you look at it first?"

"Alright. Some sort of virus I expect? I wonder if- _Good Lord!_ IT'S SAWED IN HALF!"

"Yes. Well, I can explain."

"Explain."

"An assassin broke into our flat and came at me with a chainsaw and your computer was the closest thing. Don't be mad, John! Either it or I was going to get sawed in half. And I chose it."

"…You're buying me a new one. And let me borrow yours because this is going on the blog."


	19. Chapter 19

528 Calypso Pass

Come at once if convenient.

If inconvenient, come anyway.

-SH

Rolling his eyes at Sherlock's typical text, John donned his jumper and ran out the door, hailing the nearest cab. Repeating the address to the cabbie, he sat back and tried not to imagine what Sherlock was about to get them into.

Sooner than he had hoped, the cabbie dropped him off in front of 528 Calypso Pass, which turned out to be an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

John watched the cab drive away and stood outside the warehouse with growing anxiety. Checking that his army revolver was loaded and ready (just in case), he began walking to the door. A few feet away from it, suddenly and most unexpectedly, Sherlock came charging out.

"VATICAN CAMEOS!" Sherlock shouted in warning.

The next second, the warehouse was in flames.

Blinking his eyes open, John coughed at all the dust and dirt everywhere and carefully sat up. He stared at the ground for a minute, getting his bearings and making sure he was not seriously injured. He shook his head to clear it and remembered Sherlock's warning.

"Sherlock!" he called, pulling himself to his feet. Trying to see through the debris in the air, John frantically called his friend's name. Then, just when he was starting to panic, he could see a figure lying on the ground not far away.

"Sherlock!" he cried, rushing over to his friend's prone form. Reaching Sherlock, John shook him by the shoulders and Sherlock immediately jumped up, then swayed and nearly fell over.

"John! Are you alright?"

"Yes. What about you?" John asked, looking his friend over critically. Sherlock had cuts in several places and possibly a few minor burns, but mainly looked alright.

"I'm fine," Sherlock responded, as per usual. And then he started laughing.

"What the hell are you laughing for, Sherlock? We were just almost killed! Not that that's a rare occurrence…"

"Look!" Sherlock pointed. John followed Sherlock's line of sight and saw a figure running away. He looked back to his friend and they shared a look. Both their eyes kindling with the fire of adventure, they took off together after the retreating figure.

"The game is on!"


	20. Chapter 20

The wind was blowing sand in their eyes.

"Remind me again how this was a good idea?" asked Dr. John Watson, as he and one Sherlock Holmes were staggering through the dunes of some desert.

"You're the one who wanted to take this case, John!" Sherlock reminded him.

"Yeah, but you thought it'd be a good idea to fly here! And how did that turn out again?" John looked pointedly at the steaming wreck that had once been their airplane.

"We wouldn't have had to fly here if you weren't so keen on taking this case," Sherlock responded, asperity coloring his tone.

"Mycroft said it was of national importance," John defended.

"Yeah, he says that a lot." There was a silence as Sherlock and John continued to trudge their way through the hot sand.

"So what do we do now?" John asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

"There's a small village a few miles east of here," Sherlock responded calmly. "From there we should be able to get some sort of transportation."

They continued walking in the blistering heat, their attempts at conversation few and far between. The heat seemed to be sucking up all of their energy. Suddenly, Sherlock's text alert went off and he looked at his phone before making a noise of extreme frustration.

"Sherlock? What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Mycroft."

"Well, that's good! Can he get us out of here?"

Looking very annoyed, Sherlock passed his phone to John, who read the following text:

_You owe me a plane, Sherly._

_-MH_


	21. Chapter 21

**Prompt: I'm sorry (Courtesy of "the ticking clock" – Thanks!)**

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, and John could hear genuine regret infused in his best friend's voice. "I swear I didn't mean to-"

"I know," John cut him off. "It was my fault, really." John gently touched the tender bump on his head, courtesy of Sherlock. It had happened like this:

John had come home after work to find a sleep-deprived Sherlock staring out the window, completely zoned out due to his exhaustion. Sighing quietly, John made his way over to his friend and, without thinking of the consequences of his actions, went behind Sherlock and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock, assuming John to be an attacker, had immediately turned around and punched John hard, knocking him out, and only then realizing who it really was. John had woken up to Sherlock boiling some water in a flask with his Bunsen burner (trying to make a cuppa for John) and apologizing endlessly.

"It was my fault, really," John said. "I shouldn't have gone up behind you like that. Obviously you would think it was an attacker."

"No, John; I should have known it was you. I'm really sorry! I'm so sorry!" Sherlock repeated again, now frantically trying to serve John tea out of a beaker.

By the time John had finished his tea (which tasted surprisingly normal, considering the unorthodox way in which it was made), John was feeling much better and Sherlock was still apologizing. In fact, he had apologized so much that it was beginning to get on John's nerves.

"Sherlock, if you apologize one more time, I swear I'll punch _you_ out!" he finally exclaimed.

"Ok!" Sherlock said. "Alright, alright, fine! Sorry! …_Damn_."


	22. Chapter 22

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK.

"John, could you stand up?" Dr. John Watson looked up from the book he was reading, and looked at Sherlock's serious face. Hesitantly, John got up from the chair he was sitting on.

"Why?" he asked.

"Actually, no, sit back down." Sherlock commanded. John, confused, sat down once more. Sherlock crossed the flat to where John was sitting, then plopped onto the floor, staring intently underneath John's chair.

"Sherlock? What're you-"

"Now move your chair forward a bit. A little more. Yeah, now move to the right a few inches. A few more inches. There!"

John followed Sherlock's instructions, and stared in bewilderment at the gun that had been underneath his chair.

"Sherlock… What is that?"

"Evidence," Sherlock replied. There was a pause, and John was still radiating an air of confusion and bewilderment. "And… cue Lestrade!"

Lestrade walked into the room, bagged the gun Sherlock was indicating, and left.

Suddenly, John began to notice things. New scratches on the table, stray items on the floor as if they had been knocked over, a small puncture in Sherlock's chair, and a small rip in the curtains. John imagined the fight that must have occurred between Sherlock and some assailant while he was at work. He sighed a long-suffering sigh and pushed his chair back to its original position. Such was life at 221b Baker Street.


End file.
